


Through Shards of Dreams Once Shared

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Also Briefly Narrated by Felix Hubert and Hilda, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But Mostly It Was an Excuse for Claude and Dimitri Hurt-Comfort, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, In Which Three Leaders Almost Kinda Try to Talk it Out, M/M, Post-Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Whole Gang Is Totally Here Too, basically very soft could have been and maybe will be, tagged as both romantic and platonic because they sorta hover in-between for the duration of the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 17:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: When the three House leaders called for a class reunion five years later, they had no idea what fate would bring their way... or that each other house had done the same. Now, for the first time since Edelgard declared war on the Church of Seiros, they are gathered in a single spot... and their professor is with them.--Part Fix-It Fic where the three leaders try to communicate, part soft Claude/Dimitri content, with the other students sprinkled on top!





	1. The Monster of Garreg Mach

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into Fire Emblem fanfic and I'M EXCITED! And I have new fandom jitters, haha. I kind of mixed elements of all storylines, so don't get too hanged up on what happens in each route, I guess? Oh, and I wrote Byleth as bigender, using they/them, f!Byleth height (i like them smol) and whichever appearance you prefer ~

Claude had a lot of expectations about their five-year reunion at the monastery, a lot of different scenarios running through his mind, loops of possibilities and paths to thread. Schemes, some called it (he first and foremost), but he thought of them as plans and contingencies more than anything else. He climbed Garreg Mach's broken stairs, his gaze trailing on the soldiers' skeletons strewn about, his ears perked up for the familiar sounds of the Golden Deer House: Hilda's boisterous charm as she enrolled Raphael into finding a comfortable seat for her delicate posterior, Leonie's ramble about the newest technique she had mastered out of Jeralt's now-ancient teachings, Lysethia snapping at them all to be more quiet so she could focus on her studies, and perhaps even Lorenz's insufferable talk about his presence being the duty of a noble in some way, like he didn't just enjoy everyone's antics as much as Claude did. That was his main expectation: his house, his people, his _ friends_, here as promised.

What he hoped for--prayed for, even, to Seiros, to the blessed land, to Brigid's spirits, to gods and benevolent protectors all over the world, really--what he prayed for was that Teach would join them, too. They were alive. Claude knew that, deep in his soul he knew, but they hadn't been sighted since the attack on the monastery, and he had no real reason to believe today would be any different. But when had reaching for the impossible ever stopped him, really?

Silence clung to him as he climbed, but Claude didn’t worry. Not yet. He was early, excitement carrying him swiftly across Fódlan, and for all his imagined scenarios of striding into the half-collapsed hall to be greeted by the Golden Deers’ cheers, he knew the others were unlikely to have arrived.

Claude had played this day in his mind a hundred different times, through countless hours of daydreaming, and yet not a single one of them had prepared him for what he found at the top of the stairs.

A man crouched by a pile of rubble, broad-shoulders hunched by the weight of the world, a mop of greasy blond hair drooping around his face. Shadows shrouded his royal blue cape, wrapped around him like a shield against the world, letting nothing escape but pants stained by blood and mud, and the powerful gloved hand holding a long, deadly lance.

Cold fingers sank into Claude’s stomach and twisted it. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd had been _ executed _ following a coup in the Kingdom. Claude had made his peace with that, mourned the bright-eyed prince with whom he’d relentlessly flirted (to no avail, damn this dutiful fool) and shared many late-night visions of the future during his year at the monastery, then moved on. He had dreams to attend to, many shared to some extent by Dimitri, and fulfilling his ambitions seemed a better way to honour his memory than to lingering on what could have been. He’d never been one for letting the past burdens slow him.

His boots scuffed against the ground as he came to an abrupt stop, and in the heavy silence, the sound bounced off the walls, as loud as a war trumpet. Dimitri twitched at the sound, and his head slowly lifted. His cheeks had sunken in, hatred and suffering carving their marks into him as surely as the blade that had taken his right eye, now covered by a simple black eyepatch. The blue of his left eye, however, was as clear as ever--a pale winter sky that had always captured Claude completely, trapping him into one utterly useless crush. Recognition flickered through it, only to be crushed by a bottomless pain that shattered Claude’s usual calm. 

“Dima!”

The nickname escaped him, breathless and urgent, and he rushed forward, his heart hammering against his chest, his hands shaking. The tip of a lance stopped him, less than an inch from his throat, forcing him to lean back.

“Stay back, schemer!” On any other day, Claude would’ve taken that as a compliment, even grinned at the acknowledgement of his nature, but Dimitri growled it, voice rough from disuse (or hoarse from screaming, perhaps?), like a wild beast issuing a warning, and it felt like a blast of heat crackling his skin and choking him. Dimitri glared at him, “I’m not the golden boy you once knew.”

A sharp laugh escaped Claude. No, really? The haggard and almost feral Dimitri before him wasn’t the prim and proper prince of their academy days? He would never have guessed! With a dismissive slap, Claude pushed the lance away and leaned forward, smiling. It was a tight expression, born from years of habit more than any real mirth, but it flowed naturally from him, as much a shield as Dimitri’s angry growl.

“That’s good, because gold is _ my _colour, and you can’t have it.” He extended a hand and hoped Dimitri would let go of the lance to accept it. “I’m glad you’re alive, Your Princeliness, even if you could use a bath or ten.”

“A…” He trailed off, and for an instant Claude thought he detected an upward curve at the corner of his lips, then it was gone, replaced by an angry huff. “Why are you here?”

“Me? Just one scheme or another.” He waved his fingers, insisting for Dimitri to take his hand, but when that only earned him a harder glare, Claude switched tactics and instead sat right next to him, leaning into the thick, stained cloak. The furs stank, but he chose not to comment. “News out there is that you’ve been executed. Have you been hiding here all those years?”

He scoffed and turned his head away, upward, as if looking at someone a few feet away. “I cannot hide. I will not rest until every Imperial soldier has paid for their crimes and their blood pools at my feet, soaking my boots as completely as my family’s did.”

Yikes. Echoes of Dimitri’s frantic state in the weeks before the attack on the monastery returned to Claude. He’d turned alternatively brooding or violent, a deep rage simmering under the surface. Edie’s betrayal had hit him harder than most, but all Claude had managed to pry from him was that she’d pay for what happened in Duscur. He didn’t think he’d have more luck today, so instead he gave Dima a little shove. 

“You’re a big guy and all, but I don’t think you can take all of them on your own, Dima.”

“Then I must die trying.”

Make that double yikes, then. What a pointless sacrifice that would be! “And waste a pretty face like yours?” Claude asked, forcing a chiding note into his tone. “What if… what if I told you I had a better idea?”

Maybe it wasn’t wise to share any of his plans with Dimitri. He really wasn’t himself--didn’t even sound remotely stable. But Claude’s heart shrivelled a little more every time he glanced at Dima’s pained eyes. He _ needed _to try and help him, would never live with himself if he abandoned Dimitri to the hatred which had so firmly ensnared him.

“A scheme?” Dimitri asked, and the sneer in his voice had lost its sheen of playful bickering from their time at the monastery. 

“The biggest of them all!” Claude declared, waving grandly at the air. “Five years ago, the Golden Deer House promised each other we would return here, to meet again. We had no idea what was waiting for us at the time, but… I think they’ll come. Everyone who made that promise.”

Dimitri’s eye squeezed shut and he leaned his forehead against his lance. “We did the same,” he whispered. “The Blue Lions. But they won’t come.”

“Not even--”

“Dedue is dead,” Dimitri cut off, answering the question before Claude could even formulate it. His voice had grown rougher, not with sadness but with anger. “Leave me be, Claude.”

Never. Not in a million years. Dima would have to run that lance right through his body before he left him alone now, knowing Dedue was gone. Sure, this good dude had ruined half his flirt plans back in the days, hovering protectively around Dima or dropping in a deadpan tone that he’d grown accustomed to quite a variety of plant-based poisons and effects when Claude had tried to slip him an entirely inoffensive sleep concoction. It had been a game between them: Claude trying to get past the attentive retainer, him thwarting the latest scheme without ever breaking his mask of calm, both of them knowing Dimitri needed no such protection and ordered them to break it off more often than not. He’d been a good man, the sort of ambassador Claude would have loved to count on in his envisioned future.

“I’m sorry, Dima,” he said, the words feeling utterly empty despite their sincerity. “But I’m not going anywhere. I gotta wait here, and not just for the good old classmates. Teach promised too, you know. They said they’d be here with us.”

“The Professor…” Dimitri shook his head and snorted. “They’re dead. Have been for five years. Expecting them is… absurd.”

“And yet here I am, a golden fool, away from the Alliance on the impossible chance Teach will show up.” Claude brought his hands behind his head and leaned against the wall, stretching out next to Dimitri. “I already found one dead man today, so who knows? Maybe the goddess will bless us with another miracle.”

“I’m afraid only the dead haunt me, never the living.”

“Must make for some boring-ass conversation, that,” Claude said, keeping his tone entirely too casual for the sheer level of _ what _ Dima had just dropped. For the second time, he thought he spotted the hint of a smile on Dimitri’s expression. Good to know his sense of humour hadn’t died with his appreciation for basic hygiene, then. “Just… Wait for them with me, all right? We used to share dreams, you and I, and I’d like for you to take part in this one, too. Even if only for a day.”

Dimitri didn’t reply, but neither did he get up or leave. He let the lance lean against his shoulder and set his back against the wall, right by Claude’s side, his silence an agreement in itself. Claude couldn’t help his soft smile, and he reached under the fur-lined cloak, setting one hand on the man’s much-higher shoulder.

“You’ll see, Dima, this particular scheme is as good as they get.”

And he’d be damned if he didn’t get Dimitri involved in it and force him to stay by their side, where he could be surrounded with friends once more and would not need to shoulder the burden of grief and revenge alone.

** **

###

** **

Claude had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Five years of war and he was still a sweet summer child, unburdened by the dead. Dimitri ought to shove him off, to get up and leave, to hold his promise for revenge and start on his path to Enbarr, to Edelgard. What good did it do, to waste a night here in Garreg Mach, where the dead's whispers grew stronger than ever? Claude might continue to look forward, to new dawns and beautiful outcomes, dreams and hopes clinging to his yellow cloak and easy smile, but Dimitri had no future; his life was entirely beholden to those who had died when he had survived, and nothing but ghosts and bitter anger hung about him. How foolish, to stay here on the slim chance the Professor returned, to serve as a pillow for a still-soft boy while he waited for comrades who loved and trusted him, people he could rely on to build his envisioned future. 

But Dimitri had hunted and been haunted for years, now. Perhaps he could allow himself this one night, however undeserving of it he might be. Just one. When even Claude had to admit their teacher had perished like so many before, then Dimitri would go, carving a path of death through the Empire until he reached Edelgard and tore every limb from her body, one by one, or died trying. Was it too selfish, to give himself this tiny respite? Claude’s weight against his soothed his heart, and Dimitri did not remember when last the throb of pain had seemed so distant, so manageable. It had been like this, too, five years ago. They had climbed atop the nobles’ quarters, laying flat on the roof, Claude’s head on his belly, and as they stared at the stars above and quietly shared dreams, the voices of the dead had rescinded, left him in peace for a night. 

He wished that were the case now, but they had grown stronger over the last five years, more insistent with every passing day, every moment Edelgard waged her war and the victims of Duscur went unavenged. Not even Claude could keep them at bay--nothing would but the Emperor’s head on a spike. Still. It helped to know someone had made it through the invasion with his hopes intact, that the blood he’d spill would serve not only to fulfill the dead’s wishes, but to open the path to another, brighter future for those more deserving of it.

Boots scuffed in the stairs--two pairs, one of metal, the other softer, barely audible through the first’s stomping rhythm. Could the Professor--? His hands tightened on his lance’s shaft and he leaned forward, staring at the top of the stairs. His heart hammered wildly. This couldn’t be. It had to be a Golden Deer student, perhaps even one of his own… The Professor had perished, they all knew this, foolish hopes aside. And yet, his breath caught as the top of pale green hair appeared, dust and knots inflicting even more chaos than usual through the mane. For a brief instant, his chest seemed to grow larger, warmth spreading through him.

Then the tip of golden horns wrapped around white hair followed, by their side, and Dimitri’s hope shattered like so many fragile objects in his hands. How could the Professor walk with her? The question flashed through his mind, only to be immediately discarded. It didn’t matter. Edelgard was here. At the monastery. _ Right within his grasp_. A tight ball of fury coalesced in the pit of his stomach, spinning and growing until it burned his throat, erupting into a feral scream. Dimitri leaped to his feet and dashed forward, bringing his lance to bear in one deadly stab.

Edelgard did not move or flinch. The links of the Sword of the Creator rattled through the air as they elongated and wrapped around the shaft, then Byleth yanked hard on it. Dimitri’s eyes widened but he planted his feet into the ground, holding fast. He was stronger than the Professor, stronger than all of them, and rage coursed through him. Dimitri pulled back, snarling and Byleth scowled as they were forced to take a step forward. A red glow coursed through the sword, and Dimitri’s lance snapped within his hands. 

He threw the shaft backward, flipped his grip on the pointed hand, and sprang forward with another deep-throated growl. A weight slammed into him from his blind side, sending him rolling on the ground with a second person on top of him. Dimitri slashed horizontally, trying to force them off, then his gaze caught snap of a golden cape and green eyes in his. 

“Dimitri, stop!”

Dimitri grabbed him by the throat, his heart pounding. He didn’t want to hurt Claude, but if he stood in his way… _ Snap his neck_, a voice whispered to him. _ He knew he knew he knew. They’re all with her. _ The dead clung to him, slinking in his ears, his mind. He growled, at them and him and Claude all at once. 

“I have to do this.”

“Dima…” He didn’t pull at the hand, or try to jerk back and escape. Claude leaned forward, one knee tugging at Dimitri’s fur cape, and caught his gaze. “You make a better pillow than murderer. Be… soft.” He stretched his fingers until their tips touched Dimitri’s cheek.

Something snapped in Dimitri, like Claude’s fingers had turned into the focal point of the utter absurdity of it all, his shock and betrayal mixing together, burning where he’d been touched. He flung Claude to the side, scrambling up and backward, one hand still tight around the broken shaft of his lance while he kept the other on the ground. The Professor rushed to Claude’s side as he slammed into a wall. Eldegard hadn’t moved an inch since this had started. She still stared at him, impassive.

“Here he is,” she said, her voice cold as a winter night, “the monster of Garreg Mach.”


	2. Tribute to the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone tries to convince Dimitri to take a deep breath and talk, but he only listens to the dead.

“Monster?”

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd growled the word, a single striking blue eye glaring up at her. Dried blood caked his hair and cloak, grime marred his hollowed cheek, and dents and torn had reduced his armour--mismatched pieces of Kingdom and Imperial armours, if her eyes didn’t deceive her--to a mockery of the word. She had always suspected from the descriptions within reports of this area that the ‘monster’ hunting the monastery was none other than their escaped prince, but she’d thought… there was little human left to him. The Professor had been wrong; this was hopeless, and she should have listened to Hubert and never set foot in here.

“At least you can still speak. That is more than the reports suggested.” 

Edelgard turned around, showing him her back, knowing full well he couldn’t resist such an opportunity. She listened to the crumpling of fabric as he scrambled up, the quick thumps of boots as he rushed her… and at the last moment, she spun once more, grabbing his arm and leaning forward, pulling Dimitri over her head and using his own momentum to send him flying despite their significant difference in bulk. She turned to face him as he crashed on the ground and tilted her chin up.

“Do you remember, Dimitri? You taught me this move while I taught you dance steps.” There was no mirth in her smile. He was already getting back up, and he would attack again. One did not reason with beasts; they put them down. And yet… the Professor had thought it possible. They had been convinced coming here would pay off, that they could still rebuild the bridges she had burned five years ago. “Please. I came here looking for that boy.”

Dimitri straightened. Even with his shoulders hunched, he’d loomed high above her much smaller frame. Now he towered, broad shoulders amplified by the thick fur of his cape, his blue gaze promising nothing but death.

“That boy died alongside everyone at Duscur.”

Edelgard's mouth flattened into a thin line. She withdrew a thin dagger from its sheath at her back, where it had stayed for years--ever since Dimitri had offered it to her as a parting gift. Its blade gleamed in the dim moonlight. 

"I guess it's only fitting, then, that the girl you knew died in the torture chambers meant to turn her into a tool." She flicked the blade, embedding it into a half-rotten wooden beam between them. "You told me to cut a path to my future, and I did. If you wish to know _ why _\--if you can still listen--then meet me downstairs."

And if he didn’t come, or if he attempted to kill her again, then she would cut him down. She had only so much time for mercy, whether her teacher believed in Dimitri or not. It was--it was just one more sacrifice to bring her world about. Eldegard closed her eyes and turned her back to him again, heading for the stairs. This time, he didn’t attack her. It was Claude who interrupted her walk out.

“Woah there, Princess, dontcha go leaving so soon!” She slowed down but didn’t turn around. Once, she’d thought Claude von Riegan inconsequential to her plans, but the way he’d steadied the Alliance despite imperial pressure had forced her to revise her estimation of his skills. Hubert was right; he was a skilled tactician, and his fondness for schemes was more than a child’s meddling. He could be an asset to her, too, so she let him go on. “Am I invited to this little secrets-revealing party? ‘Cause I’m all for knowing the why.”

Edelgard looked over her shoulder as Claude struggled to his feet, helped by their teacher. He wiped the blood at the corner of his mouth and cast an apologetic glance at Dimitri. She quirked a smile at him. “I figured you would invite yourself, Claude, whether I liked it or not.”

It drew a laugh out of him, albeit one ragged from pain. That flight into the wall must have hurt. “You see right through my soul, it seems!”

Now that was a lie if she’d ever heard one. Claude von Riegan was a mystery to her, a boy who’d appeared six years ago in the political landscape and soon inherited the Alliance’s leadership, one whose motivations and origins left much to be discovered. He knew this, and he enjoyed the mystery. So be it; they all had their secrets, didn’t they?

She gave him a slight nod, then continued down the stairs, back towards the monastery’s entrance.

###

Edelgard had always known how to make an impression and take control of a room, and that sure hadn’t changed in the five last years. Claude held his side, poking at his potentially-broken ribs while he watched her vanish down the stairs, bright red cape swooshing behind her. He leaned heavily against Teach (a little more than necessary, perhaps, but it felt so nice to have them by his side once more). Dimitri seemed to have turned into a statue, his hulking figure unmoving as dust swirled around him. Hard to say if that was an improvement over his reckless attacks--he was kinda scary like that.

“You all right there, Dima?”

He closed his eyes (a sign of movement! A miracle!) and sighed. “I should have killed her.”

Byleth shook their head. They were, as always, quiet unless words were needed, yet Dimitri’s shoulders slumped at the silent disapproval. It didn’t last, and after being brutally awakened by Dima leaping towards Eldegard for a killing blow, Claude couldn’t say he was surprised. There had always been something raw and hurt in him, a darkness kept in check by sturdy compassion and inherent kindness, but now that facet was exposed and uncontrolled, and it flared with worrisome ease. Claude rubbed his bruised throat; for a moment, it had felt like Dima _ would _snap his neck. Not a good thought to have, that, especially as anger poured out of him once more. Dimitri turned his bulk towards them, piercing blue eye settling on Teach.

“_Why _, Professor?”

Correction: that wasn’t anger, that was anguish--betrayal. Byleth must have recognized it, too, because this time they didn’t leave their thoughts to the mercy of silence and their inscrutable expression. 

“Edelgard needs help. My help, and yours.” Their gaze strayed to the stairs the imperial princess had vanished from, then back to Dimitri. “Hear her out. She is not as strong as she projects, and you are not as shackled as you believe.” They slunk out from under Claude, and he reluctantly reached for the wall instead. “I believe in you--all three of you.”

Then they were gone, striding back down the stairs and leaving Claude alone with Dimitri once more. This wasn’t the reunion Claude had hoped for, not in a thousand years (or, well, five really), but it’d have to do. He had no intention to help Edelgard subjugate the world, but Teach wouldn’t just go along with that, would they? If they believed in Claude, then he’d have to return that trust, at least long enough to hear Edelgard’s story.

“We should get--” Claude took his first step forward, then a sharp pain stabbed through his belly, coursing right up to his brain and blackening his sight. He pitched forward, vaguely aware of the stone floor rushing up to meet him again--then strong arms caught him. His nose and face were instantly buried in thick and smelly fur, and his fingers wrapped around Dimitri’s forearms, clinging tight to compensate for Claude’s traitorous feet. 

The indignity of it all might have burned more if he wasn’t so pleased Dimitri had caught him, and now gently lowered him to the ground. 

“Claude.”

“S’my name, yes,” Claude replied, opening his eyes to find Dima’s greasy mop of blond hair hovering above, and his gaunt face creased with worry. “This is why schemes are good. Hand-to-hand’s really not my strength.”

Dimitri grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard enough, Claude briefly feared he’d crush his bones. He stared at it, caught by surprise and more than a little breathless. It just wasn’t fair, that Dima could stay so utterly beautiful while covered in grime and blood, clearly unwashed for days, and more than a little unbalanced. 

“You can’t die, not you too, I--” He broke off and squeezed harder, forcing Claude to stifle a groan. This poor man really didn’t know his strength. 

“This isn’t how I dreamed of you holding my hand, Dima,” Claude said, and he tried to wriggle his fingers. Dimitri startled and snatched his hand back, the hint of a flush on his cheeks. “I’m not dying. Just a bit of broken ribs, nothing to worry about. But... I guess this _terrible_ turn of events means you’ll have to carry me like a poor, distressed damsel.” 

He brought a hand to his forehead, feigning faintness again, then peeked at Dima. 

No smiles this time, damn. 

“Carry you to El? So you, too, can take her side?”

“I just get the feeling there’s a lot more than two sides to this war.” Claude pushed himself up, fighting off the stabbing pain in his belly. Gosh, he really hoped Marianne was coming to the reunion, and soon. “She knew we’d be here. She could have brought an army with her and wiped us out, easy-peasy, and she didn’t. Don’t you wanna know why? By now, she oughta know better than to expect either of us to bend the knee, so what’s her scheme here?”

The curiosity was just about to eat him alive. Edelgard had been right: he’d have sneaked to that meeting even if she hadn’t expressly invited him. He wouldn’t have thought for a single moment during their year at the monastery that this girl had it in her to take over the Adrestian Empire and declare war on the Church of Seiros as a whole. People didn’t do those things without a reason! If Edelgard pretended to want to reforge the world, then he wanted to know why, and what future _ she _envisioned. 

"I don't care," Dimitri said, as blunt and honest as ever. "The dead demand their tribute."

Morbid. Claude grimaced as he imagined wraiths pounding lances or feet on the ground, clamouring for more lives to be taken in their name, hovering all around Dimitri. Was that what drove him? Was he trying to stop Edelgard at all, or only prowling these lands to satisfy a lust for revenge?

“The dead can sod off, Dima.” 

Claude held the hulking man’s glare without flinching, even though the hatred burning in it seared new wounds within his chest. They were standing so close, Dimitri would only need a split second to break his neck--and he had it in him, Claude was convinced of it now. One wrong word… But that had been his life the past five years, hadn’t it? One wrong word, and the Alliance would splinter, its eternal struggles laid bare for the world. One wrong word, and the Empire would invade. But words were his friends; with them he could build almost any bridges. 

“Who are these dead, to demand such a thing out of you? To ask massacre after massacre instead of letting you grieve and live?” He stepped even closer to Dimitri, tilting his head up. They were so near, he could feel the heat radiating from Dimitri’s body. “Let me at them, Dima. These dead… they don’t care for you, if that’s what they require.”

Dimitri laughed. It wasn’t the soft chuckles of their nights together on the rooftops, nor the terrifying cackle that had preceded his rush into battle, when they had defended the monastery. It was a sharp, hurt laugh, wrought in nothing but pain. “Neither should you, Claude, nor anyone else.”

He spun away, heavy fur cloak slapping into Claude with the movement, almost causing him to fall over again. Dimitri was almost at the staircase by the time Claude recovered from the sharp jab of pain and loss of balance, but he didn’t get a chance to call after him: outside, the world exploded, thick black magic briefly masking the sunlight before it crashed to the ground, only to be echoed by a familiar, derisive scoff.

"Pointless."

Dimitri froze with recognition of the voice, and when he spoke again, surprise strangled his voice. “Felix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') As much as "just talk it out" would totally work, it just isn't that simple with Dimitri around. XD Not much else to add, except it turns out I really like writing Edelgard's POV. <3
> 
> I hope short but frequent works as an update schedule for y'all, cause the chapters on this one all seem to hang around 1,500-2,500 words!


	3. Three-Way Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outside of Garreg Mach proper, three houses gather in a less-than-friendly reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for something a little different, with new narrating friends!

Felix’s blade was always sharp, but he had taken special of it the previous night. He needed it to cut through anything today: thick armour and fur, lance shafts and shields, but more than anything, he needed it to cut through doubts and regrets--to slice long-lost friendships into tiny ribbons without a hitch, should the need arise. 

If all the rumours held truth, the boar prince was here, and it was time someone put the beast to rest.

When he had promised to return to Garreg Mach five years later for their class reunion, Felix had imagined himself sparring with Sylvain, shutting down Mercedes’ well-intentioned but relentless offers for sweets, and rolling his eyes and Ashe and Ingrid exchanging their latest discoveries of chivalric tales. He had not expected to march towards the monastery with the firm intent to kill Dimitri Alexandre Blayddid.

He owed it to the friend he’d once had, however, to the still-human prince that had existed before the boar, before Duscur. If rage and revenge still consumed him--and rumours about the gruesome death met by soldiers around the monastery certainly indicated they did--then Felix would do what others dared not, and he would free Dimitri. One had to wonder if years of training had not led him to this very moment, when he, instead of dying for his prince like a good knight, plunged his sword through his liege’s chest. Knighthood could burn for all he cared. The boar prince needed a friend to end him, not a fool to enable him in his rampage.

He could be that friend. He had to. Felix’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, and he lifted his head, gaze tracing the stairs leading into the monastery proper, to the gates where that one annoyingly perky soldier had stood watch.

A flicker of black robes caught his attention, and as the skies darkened above him, his instincts kicked in. Swirls of dark magic coalesced over and around him, and Felix sprang forward, tucking himself into a ball and rolling as the deadly power spiralled down and smashed the ground where he’d stood. He drew his long blade as came back up and was sprinting towards the spied movement in an instant, dashing into the sidestreet.

Four black projectiles greeted him, void trailing behind them as they flew. Felix sliced through a pair of the missiles before leaping and twisting midair, dodging the other two. He landed before his assailant--and startled as he met Hubert’s cold golden-green eyes, one still mostly obscured by hair. Why was _ he _here? Had he learned of the Blue Lions’ announced class reunion? If he thought Felix would let him assassinate Dimitri--

Didn’t matter. Hubert von Vestra was as good as dead, in Felix’s book.

He led with a powerful diagonal cut and a shimmering black blob appeared, catching the blade. Felix’s heart stuttered when he tried to yank it back, only for the darkness to clamp tighter, but he answered Hubert’s victorious smirk with a scoff. As Edelgard’s aide rose a hand to cast once more, Felix let go of his sword’s hilt, kicked his wrist hard, then slammed into the rail-thin man. He had a dagger at the mage’s throat within a split second, and the smirk had vanished entirely.

“You perfected your skills, it’d seem,” Hubert stated.

One could respect the utter lack of fear in his voice, even so close to death. Felix withheld his scoff at how obvious it should’ve been, that he wouldn’t stop training. “I’ve yet to find an Imperial soldier to match my strength. Send those who tried my regards.”

Thundering hooves buried his last word short, and brutal pain erupted in his side as a javelin pierced into it, sending him crashing to the ground. The shock echoed through his head in such an intense ring, he barely heard the booming “For House Aegir!” of his attacker as he rolled across the ground, leaving a bloodied smear behind.

** **

###

** **

One had to consider whether it would not have been better to die at Felix’s hand than to be rescued by Ferdinand von Aegir, swooping in like the knights of pointless legends, long fiery hair flying behind him. But no, such were idle thoughts; he had too much yet to do on behalf of Lady Edelgard to prefer death, regardless of the circumstances. Hubert steeled himself for the tiresome conversation to come and looked up, at his very own prince charming sitting proudly atop his horse.

“Ferdinand,” he greeted, his lips pursed in displeasure.

“Hubert! It would appear I arrived in time to save your from some evil miscreant!” He grinned, evidently revelling in the undeniable debt Hubert now owed him. Then his eyes fell upon the still form in which his javelin was embedded, and all mirth vanished from his expression. “By the goddess! Is that Felix?”

“Indeed.” Only Ferdinand could have been oblivious enough not to immediately recognize the swordsman at Hubert’s throat despite a year together at the Academy. “Retrieve your javelin. We must move, before our skirmish draws attention.”

“You cannot mean to leave him to die!”

Hubert stared long and hard at Ferdinand. He might have wondered if the five past years had addled his brain, had Duke Aegir’s son not always been such a simpleton. Of _ course _he meant to leave him to die. “Did you not skewer him yourself?”

“I had not realized--” 

“Down there!” A woman’s voice--fierce, commanding, and determined--interrupted Ferdinand’s protest. Hubert’s gaze snapped to the sky, where Ingrid led her pure-white pegasus, Mercedes sitting behind her. “Mercie, I’m banking down. Prepare your staff!”

“_This _is why I had no desire to stay,” Hubert pointed out as the equine creature dove towards them, its grace and fluidity unparalleled in the animal kingdom. He could not help but trace the majestic beats of its wings as it approached--until Ferdinand’s horse trotted before him, blocking his view, while the man prepared his sword and rose his shield.

“Fair maiden!” he called out. “Ingrid of House Galatea. On my word as Ferdinand von Aegir, we grant you safe passage to your wounded should you stay your blade against us!”

“What are you doing?” Hubert hissed. 

Did Ferdinand believe himself on a playground? This was no mock battle. They were at war, and any of the Blue Lions could pose a serious threat to Lady Eldegard, if he wasn’t careful--Felix moreso than many others. The Professor may have believed it possible to convince the other Houses to join their cause, but he held no such illusions. In truth, he held in his heart that their teacher was playing along one of Claude von Riegan’s schemes; certainly, the man had proven crafty enough for such a ploy. Regardless, this meeting would end in bloodshed, and they could not afford the sentimentality of sparing fellow students.

“Is this not a class meeting?” Ferdinand responded as the pegasus alighted to the ground, Ingrid placing herself protectively between them and Felix while Mercedes slid down its back, white healing staff in hand. “It seems counterintuitive to kill each other, should that be the goal.”

“I know better than to trust an imperial’s word,” Ingrid declared before Hubert could edge another word in, her lance at the ready, her glare unwavering. “Take him to safety, Mercie. I’ll take care of those two.”

"You should know better than to trust anyone's words, truly," Hubert remarked. He reached within, to the dark arts part of House Vestra’s heritage, and oily black power curled around his arm. Pegasi were inordinately resistant to magical assaults, but if he could distract it enough, Ferdinand would find an opportunity to strike. They had long mastered this sort of cooperation on the battlefield. 

“Do you truly believe you can take on both of us on your own?” Ferdinand asked, incredulity and challenge seeping into his voice, his words echoing Hubert’s own conclusions.

A thin smile curved Ingrid’s lips, and her eyes shifted above Hubert’s shoulders--above his head, even, to the roofs there. He instinctively understood what it meant and his magic exploded outward even as the characteristic _ twang _ of a released arrow echoed through the street. It crashed into the erstwhile shield and Hubert drew the power closer to Ferdinand and himself, until the world outside had faded to nothing but echoes.

The situation, he had decided, was getting out of hand. Hubert knew the value of a well-timed retreat. 

He warped them both across the streets, to the bazaar where most merchants once exposed their wares, leaving nothing but Ferdinand’s horse behind--it was demanding enough to transport another being with him, he would not stoop to warping an animal. Exhaustion hit him as the dark strands retreated back into him and he stumbled forward, only for Ferdinand to catch his arm and stabilize him.

“Steady there, Hubert!”

As if he had any choice in the matter. Hubert blinked away the darkness encroaching at the edge of his vision, yanked his arm out of Ferdinand’s grasp, and scanned the skies. Ingrid had yet to take off again. A good sign.

“While it comes as no surprise that the Golden Deer House is late to this reunion, this is well on its way to become a three-way battle.” And he was no longer protecting the stairs leading up to the monastery and Lady Edelgard. “We must find our own classmates, if any others have come, and reunite with Her Majesty. Keep your ears peeled.”

“My ears?” Ferdinand asked.

Caspar’s loud and frantic battle scream answered in Hubert’s stead. Giving away his position in this fashion was a beginner tactical mistake, but it was entirely too predictable. Hubert quelled his desire to use the distraction to sneak back towards the monastery and its stairs. Lady Edelgard would want him to protect the rest of their class first, assuring him she could handle herself--which, in truth, was entirely accurate. Hubert gestured in the yell’s general direction.

“After you, Ferdinand,” he said, and they were off.

** **

###

** **

Hilda leaned on the shaft of her axe, pouting as she stared at the chaotic skirmish below. She’d signed up for a cool house reunion, not for more warfare! Wasn’t there enough of this already in their everyday lives? Claude had promised this would be fun, but if she hadn’t already put in so much effort in travelling here, she would be heading right back home.

“Shouldn’t we help them?” 

Marianne’s voice was so soft, it was barely audible above the din of battle. She wrung her hands as her eyes moved from one quick encounter to another.

“Sounds like pointless trouble,” Hilda mumbled.

A set of hooves announced the arrival of a newcomer, and Hilda could almost feel the aura of assumed superiority from their new companion before he spoke. “While it may be a noble’s duty to keep the peace, Marianne, I would be hard-pressed to say which side we should be helping. The Alliance has remained carefully neutral in this conflict.”

“Let’s just do nothing!” Hildra stretched her arms up lazily, to emphasize her point. “I like doing nothing. Besides, Claude’s bound to show up and tell us what the plan is, no?”

And as if on cue, a beautiful white wyvern soared from behind the monastery walls, carrying on its back their golden leader. Boy, but Hilda _ loved _ his sense of timing.**  
**


	4. Flight of the Gouda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dimitri and Claude fly above the battlefield, interrupting the deadly house reunion, and Dimitri is faced with a hard choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back to our regularly scheduled Dimiclaude Softness! :3

Dimitri scanned the battlefield below, his heart pounding as he tried to spot another Blue Lion. He'd watched Ingrid dive towards the streets, had felt his insides squeezed at the brief explosion of darkness that had followed. Hubert's magic, as cursed as the snake himself. Deadly, too, and his loved ones perished at a terrifying rate when he was around, as if his very presence cursed their future. He _ thought _ he caught a glimpse of Ashe's silver hair from the rooftop, but in the dimming sunlight, it was becoming hard to tell.

"To think you didn't expect any of them to show up," Claude commented. He'd squeezed past Dimitri's shoulder to get a good view of the ravaged town below, and the two of them barely fit in the monastery window, which shattered glass had long since been blown away. "Blue Lions are dominating the battlefield."

"This is no mock battle," Dimitri snapped. Any of them could die, could join the ghosts already haunting him. But not if he rallied them fast enough. If only he had a weapon--! Dimitri clenched his fists and pushed himself away from the window. "I will snap Black Eagle spines before I let any of them kill my friends."

“Woah there, feral boy,” Claude grabbed his forearm and slung a grin at him. “I got a better idea.”

He ignored Dimitri’s glare and leaned out of the window, bringing his second arm up, setting two fingers in his mouth, and releasing a powerful whistle. What was he planning? Were the Golden Deers laying in ambush across the streets? This was obviously a signal, part of one of his many schemes, but Dimitri had no time to waste with guesswork and no love for it. He had imperials to kill.

Dimitri started towards the stairs down, but Claude held him fast and pulled in the opposite direction, running towards the monastery’s walls. He dug his heels in, snarling at the Alliance leader, refusing to budge. Why go up when his next victims were down? The dead clamoured for him to rush in, pulling at his cape, demanding that he jump into the fray and end the imperials who’d dared to show up, old students or not. If they supported her, they were every bit as guilty.

“Come _ on_, Dima,” Claude said. “It’s time for you to meet Gouda!”

Gouda? Shock and confusion lowered his guard, and before he knew it, he’d allowed Claude to pull him towards the door leading out, up on the walls and near the battlements. Wind snapped at their capes as they emerged outside, sending Claude’s flying while it barely moved his heavier, fur-lined one. Dimitri hissed at the bright sunlight, raising a hand to cover his eyes, and Claude turned at the sound, a smirk pulling at his lips. 

Until he had met Claude, Dimitri had always believed good leaders remained solemn, that people would follow and respect him as a king if he proved himself serious and reliable. Claude defied these standards, his undeniable pull only deepening when he laughed or schemed, when that mischievous glint lit up his eyes. For a moment, his ghosts and their demands vanished, and he might have followed Claude von Riegan to the end of the world.

Then Claude let go of his forearm, turned fully to him, winked with a grin… and somersaulted over the battlements, to his certain death.

“Claude!” Dimitri lunged forward, his heart plummeting at the same time as his friend, and he leaned over to watch him fall.

He found Claude staring up at him, a grin spread across his face, a great white wyvern under him. He must have landed directly into the bright red saddle, must have known the flying steed was waiting for him. Pale wings beat quickly as it rose farther up, landing on the parapet before turning intelligent golden eyes towards Dimitri. Claude leaned forward and extended a hand.

“Dimitri, meet Gouda! Why don’t you let her take you for a spin?”

He had no desire to spin. Or fly. While he could handle himself in the air, it had never been his strength and he preferred to keep his two feet solidly on the ground. Aerial acrobatics had always been Ingrid’s domain, not his. Dimitri grimaced and ignored the offered hand.

“Gouda?”

The wyvern snorted, as if insulted by the obvious doubts in his gruff tone, then it extended its scaly head towards Dimitri. Hot air blew through his hair, and before he could push the wyvern back, Gouda's teeth snapped into his fur collar and she lifted him up. A strangled protest escape him as she swung him, his legs briefly hanging over a long drop--then she'd plopped him right behind Claude, whose laughter had all the crystalline clarity of their time together at the Academy. Dimitri caught himself on his shoulders to keep from sliding out of the saddle, and he was glad for it when, barely a handful of seconds after letting him go, Gouda took off with one giant leap and the furious beat of her wings. He yelped, and wrapped two arms tight around Claude.

"Your Princeliness!" Claude exclaimed, wind and laughter stealing his voice away as they flew towards the battlefield. "I love a hug as much as the next man, but those ribs already hurt like hell."

A pinch of guilt tightened Dimitri's stomach. He tried to loosen his hold, but every beat of the wyvern's wings made him clench again. As Gouda gained height and soared into the sky, his panicked heartbeat thundered into his ears and he mentally scratched everything he'd believed about his ability to fly. The Academy's wyverns had been trained for beginner riders; their flight patterns were predictable, their wings beat with less brutal force, and their saddles had straps to better hold you in. Claude's mount moved sharp and fast, banking back down after her rise, trusting her riders to keep themselves saddled as she spun towards the ground. The dive brought Dimitri's heart into his throat, yet as wind pushed back his hair and cloak, as the ground rushed up to meet them, only for Gouda to bank upward suddenly, a great lightness settled into his chest, and a stunned laugh escaped him. He was _ free _ here, spared the ghosts and whispers of revenge, the nightmares that plagued his nights, of escaping prison only to walk upon the massacre at Duscur and the corpses of all those who'd died before him, because of him. It wouldn’t last--it never did--but he would cherish this moment of undeserved happiness.

Claude shifted in the saddle, turning enough to grin at him over his shoulder. “She must like you! She doesn’t usually fly like this with strangers.” He patted her neck, then his gaze swept the monastery grounds below. “Come on, let’s get everyone to stand down. I betcha your lions are thrilled to see you up here and alive!”

“Alive for how long?” Dimitri countered. 

The hint of humour surprised even himself. Claude and the flight and the height were all getting to his head, stirring things he’d buried deep and hard. That wasn’t good. He needed to stay hard, to stay focused--how else would he have the strength to do what the dead demanded of him, and bring them justice? But maybe… maybe once he’d offered them Edelgard’s head, he could allow himself this, even for a brief moment. Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut and returned his attention to the battlefield below, where new members of the Black Eagle house had arrived, slowly surrounding his classmates. He straightened, and the wyvern slowed its flight, circling above everyone.

“Blue Lions!” he called, and his voice boomed across the battlefield, strong and commanding. “Edelgard is in the monastery! Now is our chance to end this. Break--”

A hand clamped over his mouth and Gouda dropped from under him, diving and twisting, cutting his orders short as surely as Claude’s palm. Dimitri gripped his arm and tore it away, but he didn’t dare release it, convinced he’d fall off. 

“What are you doing?” All the smiles had vanished from Claude’s expression, leaving behind an angry determination Dimitri had never witnessed before--another facet Claude kept carefully hidden on most days. He’d turned completely around on his wyvern to face him. “The fighting _ must _ stop.”

“Only after--”

“_Now_, Dima!” he snapped.

Would Claude also stand in his way, then? First the Professor, and now him? What next? Would the Blue Lions desert him one by one to stand by Edelgard’s side? A low growl rose from him, all traces of his earlier lightness crushed under the weight of betrayal.

“Black Eagles!”

Edelgard’s voice cracked through the air, every bit as solid as his own. She stood on the monastery’s battlements, where he had been with Claude but a moment ago, her bright red armour and cloak cutting a striking figure against the sky. The Professor had come with her, a silent figure adding to the weight on Dimitri’s shoulders. 

“Stand down. Defend yourselves if necessary, but do not initiate battle!” Wind sent her two strands of hair flying. She tilted her chin towards Claude’s wyvern and stared directly at Dimitri. “If the Kingdom’s fallen king wants my head, let him try to take it. I fear no beast.”

She left the battlements, and Dimitri could feel dozens of pair of eyes clip to him, waiting for his reaction. His blood pounded hard through his veins and his fingers itched for a weapon. Claude’s finger alighted on them, more gentle than they had any right to be, but his eyes held no such softness. 

“Prove her wrong, Dima. Come with me and hear her out.” He traced a scar in Dimitri’s palm, never releasing him from his intent green eyes. “My scheme… the one that led me here? It’s to take her down. But I’d like to be extra sure, before I kick it off. Too many lives hinge on that decision.”

Hadn’t too many lives been taken already? Those dogged him, day and night, and no one but him could fulfill their wishes. Dedue hadn’t sacrificed his life so that he would grovel at Edelgard’s feet. “My duty is to the dead.” 

“The Blue Lions deserve better.” Claude scowled and set a palm against Dimitri’s chest. 

Did he mean to push him, then? Friend one instant, foe the next. Dimitri snarled. “Do it.”

Claude pulled him just as leaned forward and stretched up, until his chest pressed against Dimitri’s and his lips neared his ears. “I would rather hear you laugh again, Dima.” He was still holding Dimitri’s hand, warm in his, and he gave it a brief squeeze. “Please. We are here and alive. Avoid this one fight, hear her out, and we’ll stand by your side against the Empire.”

Dimitri's chest felt like a tight vice was slowly clamping down on it, crushing the hair out of him. He had been alone with the dead for years, the only sound from the living their screams of death and terror as he ripped life from them. And now… here was Claude von Riegan, the golden boy who dared to dream the world differently, whose ideas for the future Dimitri had once earnestly shared--been ready to vow his lance to, even, once the dead were laid to rest--holding him close and promising him the world, if he just listened. His voice was soft and solid, coaxing, as tempting as the cold whispers of the dead. Dimitri closed his eyes, let himself feel the wind on his cheeks, smell the hint of pines from Claude, the warmth of skin against his palms, of breath by his ear. He wasn't alone. His friends had come. Claude could never share his burden--his duty--but even so…

What if, just this once, Dimitri let him share his path?

He leaned forward, against him, and the grip on his lungs loosened. "Very well. I will hear her excuses, for your sake and that of the Blue Lions below, but mark my words: nothing can justify the horrors I have witnessed. The dead _ will _have their tribute.”

Claude’s fingers moved from Dimitri’s hand to his hair, briefly brushing through it. Half of Dimitri wanted to lean into the touch, but the other half growled at the presumption. Claude ignored him entirely. “Thank you, Dima.”

The beatings of wing stopped, and Gouda touched down on the battlements, putting an end to the constant rocking of their flight. Claude slid down from the white wyvern’s back, his balance impeccable as he stood on the stone merlons and extended my hand. 

“Come, Your Highness,” he said, and his smile had returned, as captivating as ever. “Let’s hear about this path she cut for herself, and whether we want to walk by her side, or stand in her way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I might not have room for it, but my headcanon about Claude's wyvern is that Almyrans name their companion as a sort of coming-of-age passage, and Claude named her this way because of her colour and Dimitri's love for cheese. Also because it's funny. This IS Claude after all. XD


	5. Each Their Own Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three house leaders and a professor discuss dreams and nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the TALK!!

They found Edelgard in the Black Eagle classroom, her fingers trailing the partially burned coat of arms that had once adorned the back of it. Claude had a distinct memory of younger monks gathering torch in hand shortly after Edelgard had revealed herself as the Flame Emperor and declared war on the Church, forcing the Black Eagle students to stand aside as their flag burned to the ground. It had quickly turned to jeers, insults, and then fists. It had dragged up awful memories of his own childhood--of children and adults alike pushing him around, spitting on him--and he’d found himself stepping in to stop the fight without even realizing it. The moment he’d casually asked the Black Eagle students if they were all right, ignoring the monks, the building violence had dissipated. 

“I stopped them from attempting the same on your students, you know.” Claude strode to one of the rare tables still standing and sat on top of it, legs dangling from the side. “Probably a good thing a lot of them fled went the surrounding villages were evacuated, for their sake.”

Tension returned to Edelgard’s shoulders and she dropped the scorched flag. “Then you have my thanks, Claude von Riegan.”

Dimitri had not moved from the doorway. He scoffed at her thanks. “Say your piece.”

In the subsequent silence, they all heard Edelgard’s sharp intake of breath. “So you came.” 

For a brief instant, it was as if time had frozen around them, binding them unmoving in their position, instilling heavy silence in the space between them. They had come to talk, yet words refused to join the conversation, even for Claude. He sought Teach with his gaze, hoping they would initiate, but they remained their back to the wall, arms crossed, watching in silence. 

Edelgard’s nervous laugh was the first thing to break their stalemate. She finally turned around and stared at Dimitri.

“How ironic. I’ve gone through so many loops to come here unnoticed, and now that you’re here, I don’t know where to start.”

“I can start with your head.” If it had come from anyone else than Dima, Claude would’ve assumed it was a joke.

“Show them, El,” Teach suggested, firm and gentle at once. “Trust them. Trust me.”

She closed her eyes, her mouth twisting in displeasure, yet something in her entire demeanour shifted--a new tension in her elbows, a subtle twitch of her brows, the way her hands shook ever-so-slightly as she rose them. She pulled long white gloves away, revealing several scars along her wrists, then turned her palms upward. In the air above them, fluid red lines shimmered into existence, forming a pattern they had all grown very familiar with over the recent years.

“The Crest of Flames,” Claude said. Dimitri only grunted. To think it was supposed to have been extinct for centuries, and now two people held it in the same room? But how?

“This… this is the result of the Tragedy of Duscur.” Edelgard declared. 

Dimitri was already halfway through the room, but she didn’t move, only stood her ground until he towered over her. Claude’s heart thundered in his chest, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away as Dima suddenly pulled up short, his expression shifting from an angry snarl to stunned disbelief. He cocked his head, as if listening to someone none of them could see. Could he truly hear the dead?

“Dimitri.” 

Edelgard’s firm and tight voice brought him back, and he fixed a blue eye on her. Even from a few feet away, Claude could practically feel him vibrating with tension. How close to violence was he now? Hard to forget how he’d loosened against Claude, up on Gouda, as if he’d brutally let go of years of tension by even agreeing to listen. Now that Edelgard stood before him, all of it had returned, and Claude feared it would break him. She forged on anyway.

“The people of Duscur were massacred for this Crest, but I? I did not choose it. They inflicted it upon me, their vessel--their next Nemesis. You wish to honour their memory, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd? To bring justice to the dead, to kill those who created the tragedy?” She tilted her chin up, her voice growing more forceful. “Then stand _ by my side_. I carry your dead within me, and I will not rest until each and everyone of them is at peace, and the Crest system they died for is ashes.”

Dimitri grabbed her wrist, pulling Edelgard even closer to him. Her face twisted from the pain, but she didn’t flinch away from him. Dima’s voice came out practically as a growl. “Who. Are. ‘They’?”

“Hubert named them Those Who Slither in the Dark.”

“Solon and Kronya were both members of that group,” Teach added. “They’re the ones who killed Jeralt.”

“Then I will kill every last one of them.” Dimitri released Edelgard with a slight shove, and she stumbled back until a column caught her. “How can you do this, El? How can you work with these monsters, if this is what they did to you?”

“Someone must.” She straightened up and glared back at Dimitri, undeterred by his size or disgust. “The Church of Seiros is built on lies, led by monsters--literal beasts, this time. I could never have made it this far without their help.”

“The Church of Seiros didn’t create Duscur,” Dimitri retorted, his voice a low growl. “I’ll exterminate these… slitherers. One by one.” His hands tightened into fists, and he straightened into his full height, glowering at them, finishing with Edelgard. “Them, and anyone who stands in my way or aids them.”

He didn’t wait for any of them to respond, only turned on his heels and strode out of the room, shoulders still high, cape swooshing behind him. In all of their casual talks atop the dormitories’ rooftops, Claude had often glimpsed how deeply that tragedy had impacted Dima. It had seemed the main impulse behind his desire to reconcile the people of Duscur and Faerghus, but to think it’d also drive him to the violence of the last five years… The scars ran deeper than he’d guessed.

“Was that the goal?” Claude asked once Dimitri had passed through the door. “Sic the rabid dog on your internal faction?” Edelgard didn’t answer, but her lilac eyes shone with a challenge, as if daring him to berate her. He leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankle. “It’s a good scheme--can’t be blamed if they die by a common enemy’s hand--but a bit heartless, don’tcha think? Maybe that shouldn’t surprise me from our very own Ice Princess, but you, Teach?”

Byleth turned their head away. They hadn’t moved from the wall, their arms crossed, but their shoulders slumped. “It’s only cruel if he’s alone with his revenge. He’ll need help, Claude.”

Oh, now that was low. Everyone could hear the ‘help from you’ implied here. The two of them meant for him to follow Dimitri, keep the poor man sane. He constantly had his hands full keeping the Alliance together, however, and if he stayed by Dima’s side… Claude didn’t know how long he could maintain that balance. That couldn’t have escaped them. His eyes narrowed and he studied Byleth.

“Learned your schemes from the best, didn’t you, Teach?” He’d told them once that the best ideas relied on people’s core values, and that knowing the players was almost as important as knowing the cards. And Teach knew him--knew he’d always wanted to get to the bottom of the Church’s mysteries, knew he loved every minute spent by Dimitri’s side, knew he had big dreams for Fódlan. But he wasn’t that easy a mark. “If I’m not in the Alliance to keep the lords from in-fighting, it’ll fall to the Empire sooner rather than later--and then only a fraction of the Kingdom will remain free. So I’m curious, Teach… what’s in it for you? What’s this future Edelgard and you want so badly?”

“A future without nobility, where Crests do not determine one’s position,” Edelgard answered immediately, with the force and conviction of those used to exposing their goals. “I want to rebuild a world of peace. One where no one must suffer as I have, where we stop viewing humans as tools.”

“Ironic. Isn’t that how you just used Dimitri?”

“Dimitri has a right to his justice,” Byleth said, “and he had a right to know who his true enemy was. What he does with this information is up to him, Claude. I… I want a world without secrets. One where they aren’t necessary.”

Their voice was much softer than Edelgard’s, thoughtful but firm. Green eyes afixed themselves to Claude. They hadn’t changed in the past five years, had retained this strange timeless quality that made one want to sit and relish in old wisdom. Teach had always had this aura about them, like they could see through you but never judged. Claude held tight under it. He had many secrets, some of which he’d wanted to share with them the very day of this reunion, but that he now found himself holding more closely to his heart. They were still very necessary, but he could see how this reunion was a step towards clearing the air for them.

“We all have our dreams, don’t we?” He slid down the table and shook his head. “But I don’t believe imperial domination is the right path to any of them. Look at Dimitri--driven to extreme violence by his grief. Do you truly think he will be the only one? You can’t carve a new Fódlan through blood. I like your vision, you know, but a world without Crests isn’t a world of peace if you’ve committed atrocities for it. We ought to be reaching out to each other, breaking down barriers--between us, here at the monastery, between the countries of Fódlan, and between Fódlan and the rest of the world. Crests and nobility are just one way humans use to set themselves above others."

A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped Edelgard. "To think you once called me naive, and now my scope is too small?" She shook her head. "No matter. What will you do, Claude? Oppose me, or help Dimitri?"

Edelgard's problem was that she didn't think he could manage both at once. She underestimated him--worse, she underestimated the Golden Deer house as a whole. "Dimitri, of course. I can't let my beautiful prince get himself killed. But _ you _ stay out of Alliance territory."

A knowing smile illuminated Teach's face, and Claude couldn't help the slight pinch of his heart. He'd wanted them at his side while he allied with the Knights of Seiros and took on the Empire, but they seemed determined to stay by Edelgard's side. He wished he could speak with them alone, to better understand. Perhaps they simply went where they were the most needed, but if so… it was a lonely thing, to have brilliant schemes and a solid sense of direction--to be judged competent and trustworthy enough on his own.

"Very well. Take Hubert with you," Edelgard said, interrupting his wishful reverie. "He knows the most about Those Who Slither in the Dark. Wage your war on them, while we wage ours on the Church."

"_With _me?” Claude wasn’t certain he liked the sound of that, even though Hubert would be an undeniable asset. He’d betray them in a heartbeat if it helped Edelgard, and once they’d taken care of this subgroup, they’d likely be enemies again. Still… he would be alone in a sea of Golden Deers and Blue Lions. It limited his threat level. “Righto. I'll take your henchman and go do the dirty work you don't dare to take on. But think on what I said about barriers. We’re here as old students today, as colleagues… I hope the next time, we sit at the table as leaders of our nations, to discuss peace and a joint future.”

“There will be no peace as long as the Church of Seiros and its teachings continue.”

Claude grinned at her. Not an unexpected answer, that, but one he could work with. “Well, I’ve never been the most devout believer. Just ask Teach!” He winked at them both, then shrugged. His ribs were killing him, sharp jab of pain he increasingly struggled to ignore. “I can put a lot on the table, Edelgard, but this senseless violence isn’t one of them. Now, if you’ll excuse me… Dimitri needs a friend to keep his ghosts at bay. And friends do that, you know: they help each other out, when you let them in.”

Edelgard clearly caught his meaning, but she only glared at him. Dimitri and her were more alike than they’d ever want to admit. Both inflexible, both hounded by their past and convinced nothing could change their path. Claude’s gaze found Teach’s, and he knew they saw it, too. At least he had one ally in this rush to keep these two buttheads from colliding, killing thousands of others in the process. He bowed to Edelgard with a flourish.

“You know where to find me, Your Majesty.”

Then he turned heel, ready to walk away. He had reached out, and it was up to her to accept the hand, or not. Claude prayed she would--and he’d barely taken a step before Edelgard spoke to him.

“Claude.” There had been hesitation in her voice--a rarity where Edelgard was concerned--and it was enough to make him stop and wait for the rest. “That’s _ your _ dream, isn’t it? To break down barriers between Fódlan and the rest of the world.”

Was that awe in her voice? Wonder? He looked over his shoulder, at her thoughtful expression, her eyes almost inscrutable. “I see no reason to limit my new dawn to Fódlan,” he replied.

When he walked away again, she did not call out to him. 

###

Edelgard returned her attention to the burned Black Eagle tapestry, her mind wrestling with the last conversation while her fingers traced the scars born from her decisions. Scorched iconography meant little compared to the lives lost, yet her heart sank from the sight of it as if every inch of burned thread was another soldier fallen through this war. Senseless violence, Claude had called it. He was wrong, of course. It had sense--a purpose worthy of the sacrifice. Still, it weighed on her shoulders and iced her heart. For five years, she had carried the burden alone, keeping her back straight and her chin high, yet now the professor had returned. Perhaps… perhaps she could share it, to some extent, and allow herself some rest.

“A world without secret, was it, my teacher?” she asked, turning her head towards them, seeking comfort in their ever-neutral expression. Once you’d gotten used to the almost-blank face, their teacher became surprisingly easy to read--small differences betrayed everything under. They looked wistful, now. “You never said anything about it before.”

“I didn’t know until I was asked. Secrets… weigh on all of us, hinder us.”

“Will you tell me yours, then?” No point in beating around the bush. Her secrets were all out in the open, now, but it seemed to her that their teacher kept silent more often than not. “Five years ago, you told me both Dimitri and Claude had invited their classes to a reunion, and that I should do the same. In case I needed an excuse to speak with them. You could not have known of this war, or of Those Who Slither in the Dark, yet you seemed certain I would benefit from this opportunity. Then you vanished for five years--sleeping, you say--and everything started to slip between my fingers. Until now, here, at _ your _ class reunion, after a discussion _ you _convinced me would work when I found you. Some would call it the work of the goddess, others coincidences… Hubert, however, would name it a conspiracy, and he rarely fails me in such assessments.”

Could this be a trap? Edelgard’s chest tightened at the very idea. She had followed her teacher’s advice without ever doubting it, yet the results now were so ludicrous, so unhoped for… she could not help but let her aide’s pessimism contaminate her. She fixed her stare on Byleth, daring them to finally open up, to explain how they could’ve known Dimitri and Claude would listen, that this unsteady agreement between them was even possible. 

“I had… a hunch.” They looked away, then, their gaze flitting between the burnt tapestries and the smashed windows. “Most days, it feels as if I keep secrets even from myself. As if I know these things, can feel them coming, yet I cannot explain why. I believe… the goddess has granted me power over the hands of time, but I suspect the longer I rewind, the less memories of my future I retain. That--” They frowned, finally turning back to Edelgard. “That is the secret, however incomplete.”

How… how impossible. And yet, had everything not come to pass so far? Had their teacher not always been truthful, in what they said if not in their omission? It didn’t feel like a lie, just as it hadn’t when Byleth had said they’d been sleeping. Incomplete and confused, perhaps, but not false. Edelgard sighed, unable to restrain her frustration entirely. She didn’t want the goddess to be the source of her turn of fortune.

“So you’ve been down this path? You know what our future holds?”

Byleth only shook their head. “Not this one.”

“If I die on this path, will you--” Edelgard stopped herself, inhaled deeply. This was a pointless question. She wouldn’t die. Edelgard tore her gaze from her teacher, spinning her entire body away. “Thank you for your secret, my teacher. I--I’m glad to have you by my side, especially now that Hubert will leave it.” She shook her head. It had been a spontaneous decision--the right one, she knew, and yet the reality of it barely registered. She had _ always _had Hubert with her, if one excluded her brief, forced stay in the Kingdom. “We should join with the others. I’d love to keep you all to myself, but I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to see you.”

A brilliant smile bloomed across their teacher’s expression, and they nodded with enthusiasm, instantly setting off after Edelgard. It had taken only a mention of everyone for Byleth’s love for their year as a whole to illuminate their face, and El couldn’t help but smile in return. It was strange, to think that the professor was on _ all _of their sides, not only hers, yet she found the idea had a dreamlike, comforting quality to it. She hadn’t allowed herself this sort of childish hope in the last five years, but perhaps just this once, it would be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this gave me a whole new appreciation for how non-contrived the misunderstandings and miscommunications are in FE3H.


	6. Unwilling Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claude exposes to plan to everyone else, to many's great displeasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I had a few extra things I wanted to include in this fic, so I made it two chapters longer. I don't intend to write out the new route in details, in part because I'm quietly working on a bigger AU where elements of it would show up, and I'd rather not wind up writing the same things twice. 
> 
> So I do really want this one to feel complete on its own? And I'm all good with making it longer for that.
> 
> And I found some place for the wyvern name headcanon after all ^^

Claude found the students of the last cohort of Garreg Mach's Officer Academy gathered in the courtyard in a Crescent Moon shape, with the Black Eagles on his left, closest to the stairs leading into the fortified walls, the Blue Lions on the right, a tight pack around Ingrid's pegasus, and the Golden Deer spread in between like a buffer. His group was chatting happily, catching up on the last five years as if a battle hadn't just happened--Hilda was gushing over Leonie's longer hair, Raphael was showing his muscles to Marianne, and Ignatz seemed to have brought book gifts for both Lorenz and Lysethia.

Dimitri hadn't joined with his group, and his absence was only amplified by the fact Dedue's broad figure was also missing from the lot. Sylvain and Felix had a hand on each of Ingrid's shoulders, as if holding her back, and the three of them argued in low and clipped voice. Mercedes interrupted, pulling Felix back with a few sharp words and a pointed finger at his bloodied side. Annette and Ashe stood closer to the other students, nervous gaze flitting between the Black Eagles and the monastery's gates, two sentinels clearly hoping they wouldn't be needed. Their tension was mirrored across the field by Petra and Hubert, silent and watching, though both did so from the back of the Black Eagles group rather than as front liners--leaving Ferdinand to fill that role, standing proud with flowing orange locks. Behind, Caspar ignored every single ambient cue that this wasn't a happy reunion by loudly catching up with Linhardt and Dorothea, one arm thrown over each of their shoulders (he'd grown, but the others still bent their knees to let him).

Everyone's gaze snapped to him as he stepped forward. Once, he might have been intimidated, but over the last five years he’d faced the lords of the Leicester Alliance over and over, so classmates? Easy peasy, even if it was more personal. 

“Welcome home, illustrious last class of the Academy!” he greeted, spreading his arms out. “Dimitri skipped out on us?”

“Took one look at us and turned heels.” Hard to tell if the hurt threading Sylvain’s amused tone was real or not (nice to know Sylvain hadn’t overly changed in five years). 

Ingrid yanks herself out of the two boys’ grasps. “What’s going on, Claude? They told us he had been executed!”

“They lied.” One look at Hubert’s dangerous smirk told Claude all he needed to know about whose idea that might have been. The Empire must have understood Dimitri would be a beacon for Faerghus to gather around, and that the Kingdom would be easier to break without him. Though the way he was now… Claude wouldn’t trust him to lead justly, or want him at the head of an army. “Edelgard, Dimitri, and myself have reached a temporary agreement. It seems we have a common enemy--those behind the Tragedy of Duscur, the attack on Remire Village, and Captain Jeralt’s dead five years ago. Those Who Slither in the Dark. We--that is, Dimitri and I--will rid Fódlan of the threat they pose.”

“Don’t they work with the Empire?” Leonie asked. “Does El think we’re dumb? She stood right by their side!”

“For a schemer, you’re easy to fool,” Felix added. 

Claude couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I’m well aware the Empire is using us to rid themselves of an internal faction. But these people? They’re still everyone’s problem. Besides, Edelgard is lending us one of her most valuable assets--the best source of intel on them.”

He turned squarely to Hubert then, and the man immediately caught his meaning. Claude hadn’t thought it was possible for him to grow even paler than he always was, yet the faintest traces of colour left his face. “Impossible.”

“Her words, not mine.” He showed his palms in a sign of innocence.

“Do not count on my presence. I’ve better to do than to try to contain a savage beast--”

“What your words, slime.” Felix’s voice cut through the air with as much precision as his blade. “Your shining knight won’t always be there to protect you.”

Hubert’s single visible eyebrow shot up. “A threat. How quaint.”

The whisper of a blade drawn followed, and Claude cleared his throat. “All right, all right! This is gonna be a fun cooperation, I can just feel it!” He grinned at them and hopped down the stairs one by one. “Hubert, you’re more than welcome to take up any complaints to your Lady, though you’d only be wasting everyone’s time.”

He pressed his lips, glaring down at Claude and the entirety of the Blue Lions. “Very well. Since Lady Edelgard wills it…” He trailed off into a dramatic sigh. Buying time, Claude knew, as he recalculated his plans. “I would request Master Linhardt’s presence as well, then, as Those Who Slither in the Dark have advanced farther in crestology and its application than anyone on Fódlan.”

“Must I?” Linhardt asked, his voice a drawl.

If Hubert even registered the protest, he did not show. “Furthermore, we will eventually head into House Ordelia’s territory--”

“Don’t even think anyone can stop me from coming,” Lysethia interrupted.

“I would never.” He tilted his head towards her. “You’ve witnessed the danger they can pose better than most, I’d wager.”

Lysethia met his gaze with her usual furious determination, and Claude couldn’t help but wonder what Hubert could have meant--until Lysethia herself gave him his clue. “No more than Lady Edelgard.”

Tension crackled between them. This _ definitely _promised to be one hell of a party. “Great. Linhardt and Lysethia are with us, too, then,” Claude concluded. 

“Hubert, this sounds like a most dangerous enterprise,” Ferdinand started, one hand over his heart. “Perhaps I should--”

“Don’t be a fool,” Hubert interrupted. “We’re likely to start our campaign in Hrym territory, and your presence there would only hinder us. We don’t need a von Aegir to stir more trouble. One reckless idiot will be quite enough to manage.” Hurt and confusion spread across Ferdinand’s expression, clear as daylight, but Hubert ignored it. “Besides, if I am to play babysitter to Faerghans, then I must entrust Lady Edelgard’s safety to someone.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened in shock as he briefly gestured to himself. 

“Fail me, and no cup of tea will ever be safe to drink,” Hubert added, his voice falling into a dangerous whisper. Then he was off, detaching himself from the Black Eagles group to join with Claude. He placed himself one step behind, a tall shadow at his back, much as he did with Edelgard. 

“Right,” Claude mumbled. Awkward. He’d meant to talk with Hilda and Lorenz alone. “We should have a feast or something! Celebrate the short span of time in which we don’t _ have _to be at each other’s throat, use the opportunity to rip as much information from the others as we can, that sort of stuff. Y’all get everything startled. Hubert can go find where Edelgard’s hiding, and I’ll drag Dimitri back.”

His Golden Deers immediately spread out, bless their hearts, grabbing packs and rations to go chat up old friends. Claude suspected the Blue Lions and Black Eagles wouldn’t really mix a ton tonight, though Caspar did immediately run up to Ashe, gesticulating and yelling about some epic cat tale, and that seemed enough for Dorothea to drift out of her group and approach Ingrid. Hope crawled back into Claude’s chest as he watched them slowly set the war aside for an evening. Maybe… maybe they never needed to be enemies again, after tonight. 

They had a long way to go before that happened, however, and the first step in that process was to speak with Dimitri. Claude set a lid on his longing for a quiet night amongst the Golden Deers and turned back into the monastery.

** **

** **###** **

Dimitri had never expected a wyvern’s wings to be this comforting.

When he had stepped into the falling sunlight and found himself faced twenty expectant faces, all both familiar and foreign, his heart had threatened to burst. He had stared at them, looking hard at the Golden Deers but never turning to his own classmates, to the Blue Lions who had travelled to this reunion despite rumour of his death and unrest in the Kingdom. He couldn’t bear it. Now that they were here, he found he didn’t have the courage to face them--to let them see the monster he’d become. He’d turned, heavy cloak billowing behind, and strode away, ignoring the plea in Ingrid’s voice as she called after him--first with “Your Highness” and then, much more softly, “Dimitri!”

Gouda did not utter his name with fondness or shock or disgust. She'd said nothing, only lifted a wing to create a space for him, and he'd settled against her flank. Now the wing was half-draped around him, and he tried to focus on the huff of her exhales to block out the voices in his head.

_ You should have killed her. _

_ She's lying. _

_ She knew. This is her fault too. _

_ Kill them all. Make them all pay. _

And he would! He would, damnit. He would drench himself in the blood of Those Who Slither in the Dark, revel in their death as he had in the imperial soldiers.oldiers. So why would they not leave him alone? Was it not enough? Dimitri clung to his hair, pulling it as if the slight jab of pain could make it all stop. 

“She’s comfy, isn’t she?”

Claude’s voice pierced through the haze, at once clearing part of the insistent voice and bringing new spikes of anxiety through him. He set a hand on Gouda’s scales but otherwise ignored the comment about her, instead glaring at Claude, who stood with a hand on his hip, his posture more relaxed than he had any right to be.

“Have I proved her wrong, then?” he demanded. “Am I a beast? A monster?”

“You never were, Dima.” He plopped down by his side, stretching against the white scales. “Y’know, I heard voices as a kid, too. Not dead people’s--just the living, those who jeered at me while I passed in the streets or shooed me out of their shops. But being around Gouda always helped silence them. I’m glad they let me name her.”

“You… named her?” 

“After the monastery fell, yeah. I went back--home.” His voice dipped and his frown deepened for an instant, only to be immediately overtaken by a smile. “Named her after a sweet boy I loved who really loved cheese.”

Claude stared at him intently. Dimitri stared right back, confused. There was a message there, but he couldn’t for the life of him--Oh. No. His eyes widened and he leaned back, away from Claude’s smirk. That couldn’t be--

“Claude, you cannot possibly mean that you…” He trailed off as Claude burst out laughing. Heat climbed all the way to his cheeks, and the absurdity of this knowledge felt like a hammer shattering his dark thoughts. A sharp, barking chuckle escaped him. “I do not think I am worthy of this honour!”

The golden fading light shone in Claude’s eyes as he dropped his hand on top of Dimitri’s, turning his head enough to smile at him. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Dimitri stared at the brown hand atop his dirty, blood-stained gauntlets. He thought of warm summer nights looking at the stars, of Claude’s smiles and winks from across the dining hall, of the foolish games he played with Dedue to get some time alone with Dimitri… Had Claude been courting him? It was be like him, to eschew all the proper rules and behaviours of such an endeavour, yet name his trusted wyvern after him. A deep blush crawled up his cheek, yet the possibility of such a relationship only left a sour taste in his mouth. It would lead nowhere good, not with Dimitri’s current path, and they should leave it in the past. He removed his hand and looked away.

“Don’t be a fool, Claude. I have nothing to offer but my duty to the dead.”

“Then I’ll start with that!” Claude stretched his legs out, placing both hands behind his head as he leaned on Gouda. “I’m coming with ya. Can’t wait to find out more about these mysterious slitherers.”

Dimitri stiffened, his heart hammering, the voices threatening to return. He could feel their pressure, at the edge of his mind. “Don’t,” he said. “This is my burden alone.”

“Not anymore, and you don’t get a choice in the matter. Your Blue Lions are coming, and I’m gonna be part of your class for a while, along with Lysethia, Linhardt and--you won’t like this--Hubert.”

"Hubert?!" He jumped to his feet, alarm and disgust coursing through him. He had met Hubert once, in the last five years, his low voice carrying through the dark dungeons of Fhirdiad’s castle, all the way to the cell where they’d thrown him. "Do you so deeply wish to be assassinated in the dead of the night, Claude?" 

For once, Dimitri wished Claude wasn't so impossible to shake. He stayed sitting against his wyvern and only moved to wave dismissively at the air. "They're using us to destroy this internal faction of theirs. As long as Those Who Slither in the Dark live, we're safe. It's _ after _that we'll need to take care of blades in the night."

"That is not reassuring at all!" he protested, and he could hear the first whispers of his voices, telling him there was a simple solution, that it would be no trouble at all to pierce Hubert with a lance and leave his head to Edelgard as a warning. He clenched his fists. "I would sooner hang him with his own intestines than work alongside him."

"I'm sure the feeling is mutual--not the hanging part, of course, but y'know what I mean." He pushed himself off and lazily stood up. Gouda unfurled behind him and butter her head in his hands, as if asking for attention. Claude smiled and ran his fingers along her horns. "We'll need him, though. Edelgard said no one else knew as much about Those Who Slither than him."

"Takes a snake to know a snake," Dimitri spat.

Claude paused, and this time his smile vanished. The fingers wrapped around Gouda's horn tightened, as if he needed to draw courage from her presence. "Do you trust me, Dima?"

Did he? He’d thought Claude was abandoning him more than once tonight, nor had he ever truly wondered if there was more between them than a casual friendship, one vowed to be ripped apart by the conflicts that arose from their respective positions as leaders of their country. Yet for a few moments--the firsts in years, truly--he had felt safe and free tonight. It had been an ephemeral feeling, gone as soon as it’d come and entirely undeserved, yet Dimitri found himself clinging to it. If only those few he’d allowed close did not either betray him, or die. 

“I… I want to, Claude, but…”

“I’ve been called a snake too, y’know?” He grinned, but there was no smile in his eyes. “We schemers, we can totally spot each other. But if you wanna defeat these enemies, you can’t just rush in. We’ll need to weed ‘em out, and for that, we might have to be a wee bit underhanded. Hubert’s good for that. But if you trust me, then I’ll keep an eye on him for the both of us. Just leave it to me.”

"I'll kill him before he can kill us."

"But after we took care of Those Who Slither in the Dark?" he asked, eyebrows rising as he offered pleading puppy eyes to Dimitri. 

It won't work. Hubert will betray them, sell them out or slice their throats himself. He has no reason to trust any of them, not even Claude.

None, except that he could not bear to be alone with his voices now that he had tasted something else. They were easier to bear when Claude smiled at him, and told him he'd stay by his side.

"If I must," he agreed.

Claude's easy grin might well be worth the sense of impending doom that tightened his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: three leaders reunite with their classes fully :3


	7. Three Leaders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three leaders return to their classes and plan for the future.

With Dimitri's reluctant agreement secured, Claude had grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards the monastery grounds and the Blue Lions. The tension in his shoulders made Claude want to stay by his side and crack jokes to lighten the mood, but he'd have to trust Sylvain for that particular job. The Kingdom's students swarmed their prince, some with exclamations of his name, others reaching out silently, and Felix with a soft, clipped "boar prince". Dimitri bowed his head and responded in a low voice, and Claude tore himself away, forcing himself to return where he belonged: with the Golden Deers.

Those who'd mixed with other classes had returned upon sighting him, as if sensing he would have a plan. And that was just how it always went, wasn't it? When chaos unfurled, the Golden Deers turned to him for his latest scheme and rolled with it (almost) unquestioningly, trusting his instincts. He spread his arms out as he reached the group, as if welcoming them.

“You all made it here!” he exclaimed. “How wonderful. Marianne, as soon as you have a moment, I appear to have broken a rib or something. Accidents sure do happen!”

He laughed and offered one of his easy grins, only for it to be met by eyerolls and sighs. None of them believed it had been an accident for even a second (not even Raphael!), but it didn’t stop Marianne from stepping forward. “I-I’ll do my best.”

“And your best is ever so fantastic.”

Her eyes flicked up, and the ghost of a smile flicked to her lips, surprising him. That was more than he’d have gotten five years ago, and she did look a tad less tired. As her hands hovered near his sides and a wave of cool relief spread through him, Claude turned to the rest of the class.

“Cards on the table: taking out this secret group of dark mages is absolutely essential, but if we show any weakness while doing so, the Empire will trample all over the Alliance. Our leaders have been debating what to do for five years now, and that balance is bound to tip the moment I vanish.”

“Then it is your duty  _ not  _ to,” Lorenz pointed out, his frown deepening. “Claude, you cannot possibly think this fragile equilibrium will last if House Riegan does not counter pro-Empire tactics.”

“Edelgard’s certainly counting on us failing. And that’s exactly why we gotta see this through.” His smile bloomed, but he could tell Lorenz wasn’t convinced--not exactly surprising, as his father would be leading the charge to convince others to join with the Empire.

“Oh, stop fooling around and tell us the plan,” Hilda demanded. “You know you’re dying to.”

She was right, as was often the case, so he didn’t delay. “Simple. I need you both to stay behind.”

Before he’d even uttered another word, Hilda released a sigh of relief. “Oh thank the Goddess. Running after slimey cultists sounds like so much work!”

“Wait until you discover how tedious politics are,” he countered. He preferred his schemes to be more up and personal, but Hilda would love the attention. She had a natural knack for manipulation, and while everyone respected House Goneril because of Holst’s work, they had a tendency to underestimate her. “I’m counting on you to lead the anti-imperial lords of the Alliance in my absence. Lorenz, I know you’ve been working hard to steer your father; keep at it. We need his pro-imperial sentiment to exist, but if his opinion becomes a majority, we’re done for. Between the two of you, however, I’m certain we can maintain our balance.”

“Claude… You are leaving the fate of the Alliance within our hands?” He sounded stunned, and more than a little touched. 

“Of course! And with the two of you on the job, I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.” He grinned at the pleased flush on Lorenz’s cheeks, and how Hilda pretended to roll her eyes despite her grin.

“I knew coming here would land me with more work,” she mumbled.

“If-if I may?” Ignatz had raised his hand, as if they were still back in class and he needed permission to speak. When they all turned to him, he startled for a moment and fell silent. It took Claude gesturing for him to go on before he spoke. “My parents regularly make the route between Goneril and Gloucester. We could carry messages?”

“Oooh, secret messages, I like that!” Hilda clapped her hands. "You know how to make things fun, Ignatz."

He turned beet red all the way to the top of his ears, and Claude would have bet anything the prospect made him anxious, not excited. A warm laugh bubbled out of him; he had missed this easy dynamic between all of them, how he didn't have to watch his words quite as much. There were many things he kept close to his heart still, but the Golden Deers already knew the real him better than most.

"Perfect. I don't know how this war of shadows will shape up yet, but I promise you this, my Deers: no one--not the Empire, and certainly not some creepy cultists--can take the Alliance from us. We'll show 'em!"

They cheered him, fists pumping and smiles on their faces, as if the last five years hadn't gnawed at their collective energy and hope, little by little. 

"Now let's feast," Claude added, and Raphael's cheer grew the loudest of all.

###

Edelgard turned her head as a loud cheer rose from the Golden Deer group, her eyes narrowing at their jovial mood. Her lips quirked--almost a smile--and she tilted her head towards Hubert.

"You were right. He accepted too readily."

"One such as he always has a plan," Hubert replied.

His voice had regained its threatening smoothness, but she could hardly forget the barely-contained panic she'd heard in it, when he had sought her out. The professor had left them alone, sliding away to flames-knew-where in the monastery. They tended to do so, when they judged their presence unneeded, even if Edelgard would have appreciated the comfort of their backing as she'd interrupted Hubert's protests.

"It's an order, Hubert, and the most tactically sound one. You know this."

"Your Majesty, I am of House Vestra. I--"

"Am my shadow. I know, Hubert." And she was grateful for every minute he spent by his side, entirely devoted to her. She would not have made it through these last years without his unwavering help. "But what I need right now is for my shadow to reach farther than I can. Their already considerable power grows as the war continues, and they must be eliminated before it becomes too much. Claude won't succeed without your help."

"And neither of us will while dealing with a wild beast." A knife found its way into his hands. "We should kill him now, while we have another opportunity."

"He is wild, Hubert, but no beast.” 

It would have been simpler, had that been the case. But once again, their teacher had been right. Dimitri was still in there. The boy who had given her that dagger, told her to cut a path for herself, provided her with an anchor to hold onto while her world crumbled into death and pain… that boy existed still. The massacre at Duscur had twisted both Edelgard and him but she’d made it through, clinging to his dagger and reaching deep within, to her own strength. Perhaps he could do the same, in time. That was what Byleth had desired, no? That was what this reunion aimed for.

“I owe much of who I am today to him,” she’d said to Hubert, her resolve hardening as she’d wound her way to a decision. “Duscur created a nightmare for both of us, and he is still living it. Let this be his chance to wake up and find  _ his  _ path. Study him, Hubert. He has no guile--none that you could not see through, at any rate. If he does not find himself before his revenge is complete--if he believes we must be next--then you have my permission to kill him. But not now.”

Hubert’s lips had pursed, a thin displeased line. “Very well. He is lucky, that you would rather see him live. I doubt the sentiment is reciprocal.”

Edelgard was not entirely so certain. He’d shown concern for her well-being on several occasion during the their joint time at the monastery, and it often felt as if two halves warred within Dimitri. He’d snapped upon learning of the Flame Emperor’s identity and she’d yet to see the naive prince reemerge since, but if he’d been truly gone, would Dimitri have accepted to let her live? Would he be standing not so far from her, surrounded by his own class, without trying to break her neck? She glanced his way, heavy fur on bent shoulders, and sighed. Perhaps she was deluding herself and Hubert was right, but just this once, she wished to hope for the best in someone else.

It helped to know Dimitri’s future now rested in the hands of one very clever man, who’d just earned himself a loud cheer from his own class.

“Plans can be countered,” she declared, turning her attention back to her students.

She had not expected every single one of them to show up. This reunion had been a pretext, and most of the Black Eagles had dispersed after the war had started. Hearing Caspar quarrel with Linhardt while Petra gently interrogated Dorothea on the meaning of the strange idioms they used filled her with a quiet sense of peace she hadn’t known for a long time.

“For now, we will leave Claude to his schemes and focus on our task: finding and killing Rhea. We may need to sweep the whole of Fódlan under our control to do so, and I will not hesitate to conquer more Kingdom and Alliance territory. Now that we have the Professor’s guidance--”

“Where  _ are  _ they?” Caspar interrupted. “We gotta get them into this feast thing, too!”

“It is true. I have much eagerness to see the Professor again,” Petra added.

“They asked for some time alone,” Edelgard said, and although her teacher had voiced no such thing, she felt confident their prolonged absence meant they needed it. They  _ had  _ just woken from several years of sleep. “I’m sure they’ll join us as soon as they’re ready.”

"I think they have a great idea!" Bernadetta exclaimed. "We-we should all hide in our rooms for a bit."

"Aw, tired of us so soon, Bernie?" Caspar threw an arm over her shoulder, dragging her closer and provoking a high-pitched scream. "I'll protect you while we're out."

"For the sake of our ears, I dare hope you will do so with more care, Caspar!" 

And with Ferdinand's plea, the class descended into a needlessly heated debate about the best ways to keep Bernadetta from the worst of the noise and chaos that was bound to happen from all the students gathered together, unaware that they themselves were the source of much of it. The subject of their discussion slunk away while they weren't looking, subtly placing herself out of the ring and closer to Hubert, looming behind Edelgard, angled so he could stare at the Blue Lions.

With a sigh, Edelgard opted not to put an end to their debate. There would be time later for her to plan out the war and reassess her class's interest and aptitudes after five years. For now, it was enough to know that they were fully behind her, and that even after all this time, they still quarrelled like children.

###

The Blue Lions greeted him with smiles and shoulder squeezes and much more affection than Dimitri had ever deserved. He kept his head down and did his best to acknowledge it and apologize for the worry caused over the last five years. He did not want their concern or pity--he wanted to put whatever food was at hand at the bottom of his stomach and get moving again. Except he had the name of his targets, but no idea where to start, how to get to them, and everyone else had just arrived. They deserved a happy meal together, even if he cared little for it and would not taste a single bite. So he did his best not to shatter their good mood, but it was not long before his grunts and half answers soured their joy, and the conversation dwindled until only the obvious question remained. It was Ashe who risked it, his voice subdued and tight but kind all the same.

“Your Highness… where is Dedue?”

Tension rippled through his small group. Dimitri closed his eyes, as if that could ever block the memories seared into his mind, of hard times and quiet nights alike. “Dedue… gave his life to preserve mine,” he said, turning his head away. “He freed me from my cell before the execution.”

Silence followed, broken only by Mercedes’s soft “Oh”. They bowed their heads, the pause a collective moment of grieving that tightened Dimitri’s throat. He watched their faces, how anger and sadness filled each of them, and the vice around his lungs loosened.

“We outta do something for him,” Sylvain said. “Pay our respects to the good dude.”

“We could plant something tomorrow morning!” Ashe said. “He did love the greenhouse.”

Mercedes brought her hands together, as if in prayer. “He taught me a little bit about Duscur’s gods. Perhaps I could… if that is not too presumptuous, I mean.”

“Oh, Mercie, that’s a wonderful idea!” Annette set a hand on her friend’s shoulder, but as she went on, cracks snaked into her enthusiasm. “I wish he could be there today, to see us all together.”

“So what d’ya think, Dimitri?” Sylvain asked. “We do some morning mourning before we break camp?”

They all turned to him. He gritted his teeth, anger and bitterness coursing through him. They didn’t understand. He couldn’t do this, not now--could not rest before Dedue himself did. Dimitri turned his head away. “Do what you will,” he said, “but I will not mourn until I have ripped the spines out of those responsible and crushed them under my boots.”

Felix’s familiar scoff came in retort. “I knew it.”

He didn’t add any more, simply strode right past Dimitri, bumping into his shoulders as if to dare him to fight. Ingrid protested when he walked away, but Felix ignored her entirely. Dimitri didn’t turn to see where he was headed. He knew Felix saw in him what the others refused to acknowledge, the monster he had become.

“Honour him,” Dimitri said. “I cannot yet do so, but you should.”

Solemn murmurs of agreement greeted his answer. This time, however, the silence didn't last. "Your Highness…" Ingrid trailed off, her eyes flicking towards the Black Eagles group, then Claude. "Are we really doing this? Going after shadows manufactured by the Flame Emperor instead of reclaiming the Kingdom? Your people need hope. They need you--their King."

Dimitri turned tired eyes to her, ever the loyal knight. He tried to ignore how everyone straightened at her words, how proud they still were. They did not see the ghosts that clung to him. "The Kingdom will not know peace until these people are dead. They engineered the Tragedy of Duscur and I  _ will _ wipe them out from Fódlan--or Almyra, or any country I must travel to, if I need to." And then perhaps the ghosts would quiet, and he could rest at last. "You're under no obligation to follow."

"Oh no, we're coming for sure," Sylvain said, and they all echoed him. When Dimitri nodded, he clapped his back and added with a grin. "Now we should mix up with the others! Get some food in Your Highness, catch up while we have permission not to kill each other, watch Ingrid ignore all my advice while she tries to flirt with Dorothea…"

"Sylvain!" she snapped, a deep flush climbing into her cheeks.

"I did not think she could grow even more beautiful," Mercedes commented. "Don't listen to him, Ingrid. I'm sure you'll do just fine."

And before he knew it, they were spreading out, strangely excited to dine with their enemies. Dimitri felt numb, entirely incapable of polite conversation tonight. He wished he could sit in the greenhouse and listen to the quiet hums of Dedue’s work as he cared for the plants within, instead of being surrounded by chirpy conversations or subjected to everyone’s stares. There were altogether too many people here, but everyone would notice if he left.

Slowly, he gathered his courage and turned around. He found Claude’s green eyes waiting for him, and as the man gestured for him to come, his ever-present smile stretching into something more real and solid, Dimitri wondered if Claude’s endless chatter and glib tongue might not be a sufficient shield for tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so many of them!! Big crowds are rough but i love all my babies and I tried to give them all time to shine, especially those who hadn't said anything in the previous Big Crowd Scene. <3


	8. To Hear His Voice Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dimitri avoids a funeral yet still discusses the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, the last chapter is finally here! I thought I had finished this fic? But apparently I only wrote the ending in my head, whoops. Anyway, enjoy!

Dimitri had long since given up on warmth. He always felt cold, and whether it was Faerghus’s natural weather or the chill in his soul, he didn’t know--nor did he cared to. He kept his fur cloak tight around his shoulders, a pathetic attempt to stave off shudders and ghosts alike. Its weight had become something of a comfort, however, and in the early morning light, he needed all of what he could garner.

Last night had turned into actual festivities. Caspar, Annette, and Ashe had gone traipsing through the monastery and returned declaring they’d found a cache of musical instruments of all sorts. He and Raphael had been requisitioned to carry them outside (it had taken Claude’s prodding and most Blue Lions’ pleading to convince him), and before long they had Dorothea standing atop the stairs leading to the dining room, belting out a beautiful song about loss. Felix had surprised everyone by dragging Annette up there, and although she had declared him evil and cruel, cheers from several other students coaxed her into a rhyme. 

After that, they all seemed to derive great pleasure from exposing each others’ talents: Leonie asked Lorenz very loudly if he still wrote poetry, earning everyone a quick recital from an unusually bashful Lorenz; Hubert’s low voice somehow managed to be overheard by everyone as he declared that he seemed to remember Ferdinand singing at the most inconvenient hours (Ferdinand, of course, was not remotely shy at the idea of joining Dorothea up the stairs); Sylvain crashed Bernadetta’s quiet corner to ask about her writing (she yelped and hid until no one paid her attention again), and eventually--to everyone’s astonishment--Edelgard asked Claude if he still knew these peculiar dance styles of his. The spark of joy in Claude's eyes struck something bitter in Dimitri, and he watched them dance sullenly, mulling over how his golden boy seemed to share things with even Edelgard. He truly was everyone's friend.

Although if one was honest, that seemed true of almost all the students that night. It had been as if a spell had been cast on them--as if five years of war and pain had been temporarily erased from their memories--and they simply celebrated their being together. He had not been able to fall under this sway, no more than he could allow himself to grieve Dedue, and a few more had seemed to escape it. Felix and Hubert had spent a significant amount of time glaring at each other, Linhardt had slept through most of the night, and at times Dorothea's smile slipped, and her gaze flitted between Edelgard and Dimitri, her thoughts easy to guess. Dorothea had spent enough years on a stage to know pretense when she saw it. 

Dimitri had neither the inclination nor energy to join the play, as she had. In a way, this morning was very similar. His classmates had gathered around the greenhouse, and he watched from a distance as they formed two half-circles--one, closer, with the Blue Lions; a second, slightly farther, for the students of the other Houses--with Mercedes in the center, facing them. Her words didn’t carry far enough for him to hear; no doubt she had found the perfect ones to honour Dedue and the piece of Duscur culture lost through him. Ashe’s shoulders shook as he stepped forward, a large, bulbous seed in his hands. Sylvain and Ingrid dug the hole, and even Felix was present--and wasn’t that ultimate irony? Everyone attended this little funeral--everyone except him.

How could he, when Dedue’s voice haunted his night? When he heard him call his name and pray for his safety, for the future of the Kingdom, for his happiness? How impossible a concept, happiness, when all that Dimitri loved had been torched, exterminated. His Father, his stepmother, his best friends… No, he couldn’t mourn them yet, not until he accomplished what was asked of him and fulfilled his revenge--not until the ghosts quieted and allowed him a night of peace.

“Dimitri.”

Byleth’s voice startled him; after five years of it whispering in his ears, he’d forgotten what it truly sounded like. He tilted his head to the side and watched their slow approach, fondness roiling with betrayal within him. The Professor had guided them all, five years ago, and to learn now that they had chosen to stay by Edelgard’s side struck a deep chord of bitterness within him. He did not understand, nor did he care to any longer. They had made their choice.

“Go away.”

They stepped next to him by his side instead, and watched the ceremony below in silence. Dimitri turned away and clenched the wooden railing of his balcony so hard it twisted, fighting his desire to stalk off. If Byleth had come, then they had something to say or do. Fleeing would serve no purpose.

Minutes trickled by, heavy and painful with the Professor’s betrayal.

“Your ghosts, Dimitri… They may be real, but that does not make them right, or just.”

Dimitri startled and glared at them. How could they know? He had never told the Professor about the ghosts trailing him, only that he’d come to the monastery seeking revenge for his massacred family. He searched Byleth’s impassive expression for traces of mockery or deception and found nothing but the frank compassion they so often displayed.

“What would you know about justice, when you walk by that murderer’s side?” 

Byleth tilted their head--just a few degrees, yet somehow it conveyed the whole of their disappointment. “Little, perhaps.” 

Another long silence followed. It was often like this, between them, even when Dimitri was only a student at the monastery. They would sit and work without words, finding solace and motivation in the quiet companionship. Now there was no solace for him; there might never be again.

“Do they answer, Dimitri?” Byleth lifted their eyes to the skies then closed them. “Your ghosts… do they talk to you? Does your father’s ghost still tell you he loves you, that he has faith in you?”

The questions sounded like accusations, proof that the dead haunting him were wraiths without a sliver of his beloved left to them. Yet Byleth’s tone had cracked, their anguish seeping through as they piled on the question, and that pain flared within Dimitri as if setting his own on fire. His throat tightened and he moved his attention back to the gathered students, mourning the most recent of his ghosts. The Professor sighed, their breath clouding in the chill morning air.

“Some days, I wonder if it would not be worth the haunt, for a chance to hear his voice again, or have the certitude he, at least, approves of the path I chose.” 

It struck him, now, where Byleth had been while the students held their feast the previous evening. No one had checked the cemetery, yet hearing them now, it seemed evident they had stayed by their father’s grave. Was it a blessing or a curse, that the dead trailed him so relentlessly? It was true that he heard their whispers, yet now that the Professor’s true voice reached him, Dimitri realized how different it sounded from the one that had plagued his nights. What wouldn’t he give, to truly hear his father’s laugh as they sparred? To hear Dedue gently scold him after another sleepless night? Now all he heard from them were screams of pains and demands for revenge--a plea for him to finish what they could not. It was neither blessing nor curse. It was a duty, and only him could carry it out.

“I walk the path they can no longer take themselves.”

"What of your path? Or do you think you have no road of your own to follow?" The Professor turned towards Dimitri, pinning him under piercing green eyes. “The only sense of justice I can rely on is my own. You should find yours, Dimitri, before it gets drowned in everyone else’s.”

They turned heels and left, heeled boots clicking on the stones, and Dimitri could not remember them uttering so many words in a row outside of a classroom. They had rolled out of Byleth coated in undeniable worry and frustration, striking at questions that tormented him more than he cared to admit. It had been years since Dimitri had questioned the ghosts in his mind, yet Byleth and Claude both scorned the direction they were taking him. He tried telling himself that they didn't understand, yet the grief threaded through the Professor's voice could not be faked. They, too, had vowed revenge on the shadowy figures that had taken Jeralt’s life, all those years ago, and perhaps the Professor had not forgotten or forgiven as much as he’d thought. 

Dimitri’s gaze fell to the students below. His Blue Lions were throwing dirt back upon the seed planted in Dedue’s honour, grim-faced. In a few hours, they would be leaving Garreg Mach to hunt and kill the mysterious force behind the Duscur Massacre and so many more deaths. Did he have a path beside what the dead demanded of him? If so, he cared not for it. For now, his path was theirs, and he would get his revenge--for his family, for the people of Duscur, for the Professor and Byleth, and for Dedue, who had given his life so that he may see this through.

** **

###

** **

Byleth watched the small strike team of Blue Lions leave the monastery, flanked by Ingrid’s pegasus and Claude’s wyvern on each side, and for the first time since they had woken from their prolonged sleep, they felt a measure of peace. They had not told Dimitri that they, too, walked a past flanked by ghosts--their students, from times past and future both, countless failed attempts to save them. They hovered at the edge of their mind, unexplained feelings of grief guiding them as they tried, once more, to save them from their fates. The Goddess had granted her power over the hands of time, and that, too, was as much a blessing as a curse. 

Perhaps this path was vowed to fail, too, as had been every attempt to save their father. Sothis pretended fate could not always be tricked. That, however, was not something Byleth could accept, not yet. The world was cruel. It made mockery of their dreams, shattering them until the shards cut deeper than any blade. Yet Byleth had the power of a goddess, and what was the point of that, if they could not save a year’s worth of students with it? They would keep trying until one day, the pieces of everyone’s dreams could be put together into one beautiful whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I know there could be so much more to this story, but when I started it, I really wanted to imagine how a three-way encounter could go post-timeskip, and how they could start cooperating, not rewrite the entire story. Part of this is that I’m slowly building several headcanons into a full-blown AU, and I’d hate writing similar things twice, so I’m keeping my energy. Either way, here are some headcanons I do have for this:
> 
> •Claude and Hubert work extremely well together. They not only take down a lot of TWSITD, they uncover more information on their ploys and on Duscur in particular. This helps convince Dimitri that Edelgard is not deflecting the blame or setting them up for a trap.
> 
> •Cornelia is one of the first to go down, as this helps Rodrigue take back Fhirdiad and reestablish the Kingdom. He stays in charge until they’re finished with TWSITD. They find Dedue in the dungeons there and everyone’s thrilled to have him back.
> 
> •TWSITD eventually understand what is going on, and catch wind that Hubert might be involved. Already unhappy with Byleth’s involvement, they make a move against Edelgard, only to be stalled by the Black Eagles left behind. Edelgard tries to appease them by upsetting Alliance territory and getting her first foothold there, but Hilda and Lorenz manage to keep the squabbling lords in check.
> 
> •Lord Arundel clearly tells her she is not making any progress, and he threatens to use the full might of the Argathans’ power. By now, their main base has been located, and Dimitri leads the final assault just in time to stop TWSITD from nuking either the Kingdom or Alliance capital, or both. Edelgard kills Arundel herself.
> 
> •Rhea has been knocked out all this time, and the emotional strain of learning Byleth has “betrayed” her pushes her to become aggressive and set the Knights of Seiros against her. By the time this happens, Dimitri has been brought back to a path of healing, Hubert and him trust each other (this is the part I’d actually wanna write!!), and both have learned enough of Claude and his goals to support him (though for Hubert, not to the point he’d betray Edelgard, of course). So the three leaders are well set to agree on fighting Rhea, too. Seteth tries to convince her not to attack, and when she does not listen, he chooses instead to retreat with Flayn. 
> 
> •Instead of creating one big united territory, the three leaders meet every year at Garreg Mach and discuss politics that are meant to be adopted in all territories. These basically tear apart the crest system, open up borders to Almyra and elsewhere, and eventually lead to Fódlan-wide democratic systems. The Church is extremely decentralized and demilitarized. Eventually Seteth quietly reemerges with Flayn, at the monastery, where they join Byleth in leading the Academy and teaching students.
> 
> That’s it. That’s the Unity Route as I set it up here. XD Everyone is happy except Rhea, because I can’t seem to make it work for both Rhea and Edelgard. And Rhea had her turn at this whole leading Fodlan thing. But yeah. This is how i’d probably go about keeping everyone on the same side even after they accomplished the temporary truce objective. XD

**Author's Note:**

> And we're off! I hope you enjoy the fic, and if you're a twitter person, you can find me @writingsquid !
> 
> Oh and don't be shy! I'm a very talkative writer haha 💙💛


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